and i'll be right there with you, wherever you go
by psychicchameleon
Summary: endgame spoilers. "I wish he could be here to walk you down that aisle." A certain big brother steps in to fill a role for his baby sister.


"Morgs? Hey, _oh_," Peter whispers, slipping into the shed that has been turned into a makeshift dressing room for the weekend, "_wow_."

"It's so itchy," she says, pulling at the white material clinging to her skin, "and is it hot in here? I swear I can't breathe, maybe we can just… postpone. He'll understand, won't he? I _told_ him that the winter would've been so much better, but that little shit was so dead set on his perfect fairytale summer wedding and I just can't say _no_ to those puppy dog eyes and… Peter?"

"Mhm," he says, trying to pretend that it's all fine, he's fine, it's not like his baby sister is all grown up and looks like the most radiant, precious thing in this entire world right now.

"Petey," she coos, wrapping her arms around him.

"I'm okay," he chokes lamely, "b-but maybe you _should_ postpone, you know? You're still young. You can make like dad and wait until you're in your late forties, m-maybe by then I'll be ready for this."

She smiled at him, squeezed him tighter, "I'll be right there next to you the whole time," she said, "and not just today, okay? I'm not going anywhere, Pete."

He gives her a watery laugh, releasing her just enough to look at her muddy brown eyes, "I'm supposed to be the one giving _you_ the pep talk."

"Oh come on, dork, you might be a bad ass superhero but we've always known I'm the rock in this relationship."

"I can't help it, you just… you look beautiful, kid," he says through sniffles.

"God, you're such a _sap_," she moans, punching his arm, but tears are pricking at her eyes too.

"I'm not ashamed of being in touch with my feelings, _Morgan_," he glares, swatting her right back.

"Ugh, you _know_ that when _you_ cry _I_ cry," she fans at her eyes desperately, "and Peter Parker if you make me smudge my makeup so help me–I _will_ lock you in this room for the entirety of this wedding."

"Here," he stills her erratic hands with his own, pulling out the neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing the streaks under her eyes, "you look perfect."

He holds her hands for a second longer.

"I wish he could be here to walk you down that aisle."

"Me too," she whispers, "but he would've wanted you to do it."

"No," Peter laughs, a glint in his eyes, "he would've wanted me to web your groom-to-be to a tree and tell him he wasn't good enough for his little girl. And then he would've laughed at me for being so wrapped around your finger that I agreed to be your Man of Honor."

She let out a little snort.

"Yea," she smiled at the floor, "that does sound like dad."

They stayed silent for a little while, until the music cut them out of their trance.

"Well, it's now or never dork," she said, moving toward the door.

"Wait, one more thing," he pulled her arm back, "I'd be the worst Man of Honor if I let you go out there unprepared."

Peter's arm fumbled in his suit pocket, pulling out a few dried flowers.

"Are those," she breathed, and he nodded. He'd saved them, after the funeral, kept them in the drawer next to his bed.

"Something old," he said, tucking the flowers neatly into her hair.

He reached around her, clasping a delicate chain around her neck, "and something new."

At the end of the chain was a locket, and a pair of familiar brown eyes started up at her as she opened it.

"Just because he can't be here doesn't mean he shouldn't be with you," Peter whispered.

Morgan swallowed thickly in her throat, nodding her head and hugging her brother one more time.

"You're forgetting," she coughed, hiding the break in her voice, "a couple things."

He rolled his eyes, smiling all the while, and peeled the blue web-shooter from his wrist.

"I figured this could be your something borrowed _and_ something blue," he explained, "and, you know, an escape plan in case you decide you want to not grow up for just a little bit longer."

"_Peter_."

"I know, I know. You're a big girl who doesn't need her brother all up in–," she cut him off with a crushing hug.

"Shut _up_."

He buried his head into the crook of her neck, "love you too."

"Alright, Morgs," he said, fighting the urge to just hold her there for the rest of time, "you ready to make an entrance?"

"_Please_," she grins, yanking him toward the door, "I'm a Stark. I was born for this."

Peter Parker walked her all the way down the aisle, AC/DC blaring through the trees as Morgan beamed at her friends and family.

And even though they couldn't see him, you couldn't convince a person in that audience that Tony Stark wasn't right there with them, smiling like the proudest dad in the whole world, and whispering _I love you three thousand_.


End file.
